


Put it on paper

by Wallyallens



Category: Clint Barton - Fandom, Hawkeye (Comics), Kate Bishop - Fandom, Marvel, Young Avengers
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 12:54:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2270508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wallyallens/pseuds/Wallyallens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint wrote the letter he and Grills talked about, but not to the person he expected. The battle for the building is coming, and Clint, his neighbours, and his partner are ready to fight for their home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put it on paper

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing for Marvel/Hawkeye, so criticism good or bad is welcome! Thanks!

 

**‘Put it on paper’**

Kate Bishop was trying to see the silver lining of a bad situation.

She had rushed back to New York as soon as she heard about the hit on Clint, frantically worried about what she’d find when she got there – when she got _home_. L.A had been fine, but it turned out Barton was occasionally right – Brooklyn was something special. Or at least the people were.

Despite her worry, what she found was not a dead body, although it resembled one. Clint was passed out drunk on the couch, pillow over his head and wearing only a grubby t-shirt and boxers. The damn idiot.

When she had woken him, Hawkeye hadn’t reacted well. It took her all of five seconds to figure out he was deaf.

“Oh, Clint,” she breathed softly, moving to sit on the couch beside him, the faded purple fabric dipping under her weight. Her case was by the door, but she didn’t think it would be going anywhere for a while. She planned to stay right here and make sure nobody hurt her best friend. “What happened?”

He didn’t answer, just bowed when she put her hand on his back to put his own on his face, leaning with his elbows on his knees and groaning. Head in hands, his already scruffy hair was messed up some more as he woke up, not even questioning why she was back from her new life – of course she was. Because that was Kate: always where he needed her, right when he was on the verge of giving in.

They would have sat that way for a good while, if it wasn’t for Lucky.

The dog had followed Kate back to the old apartment, stopping in the door to watch them for a moment, head cocked to one side and dark eyes almost human in the light. Then he trotted right on in, walking up to the couch and putting his head on Clint’s lap, whining gently.

When the blonde archer looked up and saw those eyes, he knew he should be mad: that damn dog started all of this. But how could he be when the stupid animal was so darn affectionate?

Rubbing Lucky behind the ears firmly, Clint bowed his head to the dog’s instead, feeling silky fur brush across his brow. After a moment, he sat back up.

“Good Boy,” he said, signing with his hands as he did so. He figured he may as well get used to it. Turning, he looked at Kate and gave her his best smile – it was weak, but there. He put an arm around her quickly, lying back on his sofa with his best girl and his dog, “guess we’re all back together again, huh?”

“Those futzing idiots aren’t getting this building, I swear,” Kate said, the anger in her voice startling, “we’re gonna fight them every step of the way. I’m not going anywhere. Not again.”

And that was why she was so much better than him, Clint thought sadly as he hugged her closer, because Kate Bishop couldn’t even run away properly, unlike him. He was practically a professional at this point. He’d been running for a long time.

No, she was right – he wasn’t running away again, either. Somehow, this building; these people – they’d become his home. He wasn’t going to go without a fight.

But for now, all they could do was wait.

*

The Tracksuit Dracula’s, as Clint had dubbed them long ago, attacked without warning. It was just a Saturday: although they had known this was coming, neither of them was prepared that evening in particular. Kate had ordered pizza, which lay half-eaten between them as they watched a movie, both of their eyes glazed over and not taking anything in.

They were tired.

Waiting for an inevitable attack on their lives was harder than it looked. The stress alone left them awake most nights. When the vans screeched to a stop outside and a lot of track suited men with guns piled out, they thought they were ready.

“Go warn everybody,” Clint told Kate as they grabbed their equipment, bow already in his hands, “get them to stay inside and lock their doors, barricade themselves in if they can – knock every door in the building if you have to!”

He was running off before he’d even finished the sentence.

Just for a second, Kate watched him go. She _hated_ this plan. Of all the stupid plans she had ever willingly participated in, and there had been more than a few, this was the dumbest. He was running off into danger alone – and she had to knock on doors. Great.

“Hey, dummy!” she shouted. He stopped. She grinned, “give ‘em hell.”

And then he was gone.

*

_Okay_ , Clint Barton thought as he stood on the roof to his building, a very high fall behind him and at least twenty guys with AK’s in front, _this looks bad_.

He wasn’t even sure how this had happened. Really, it wasn’t like he went looking for situations like this. The plan had been to take out the men before they even reached the residents of the building.

Hawkeye had wanted to use the first flight of stairs to his advantage, waiting for the men to appear before shooting downwards from above, where he had plenty of cover while they were left in the open. It had worked, for a while, until the building took just enough damage that he could justify sending an explosive arrow towards them, demolishing the staircase.

He had hoped that just stopping the men from entering would be enough. It was the laziness of criminals which they had bet on: that the Tracksuits would stop just because there was no way up. If they couldn’t get to Clint, they couldn’t kill him.

On paper, it was an easy solution. Sure, it would mean the building taking a little damage and that they’d be essentially trapped up there, but a siege was better than a war.

However, life rarely goes to plan. In fact, the only consistency is things _not_ going to plan. Clint thought that perhaps in future, they should just plan for their plans to go wrong and . . . well, they’d probably go down in flames anyway.

But at least they could say that was the plan in the first place.

Of course, it was the god damn fire escape which let them down. He had thought their plan had worked, standing in the smoke from the explosion and looking at one thoroughly destroyed staircase, which had either crushed the men beneath it or caused them to retreat outside to escape the blast.

For a glorious, short-lived second, they had won.

Then Clint heard the sound of gunfire and shouting upstairs, running as fast as he could, considering how little coffee was in his system. It all passed him by in a blur, the building he was risking his neck to save. It wasn’t even the nicest building. The paint in the stairwells was chipped and stained, the lights crapped out sometimes, not to mention the abysmal TV signal – but it was home.

He had to at least _try_ to save it, right? It was the least he could do, after everything. Yeah, he did. Kate would.

He burst out to the roof and let off five arrows before the people up there even registered his entrance. Several of the tracksuit ‘bro’s went down, but then there were too many guns on him and not enough time to stop them all, so Hawkeye did a very dumb thing – he lifted his bow into the air, holding up a hand.

“Guys,” he tried, voice strained as he slowly moved across the roof, hoping to get to a nearby building so he could aim and fire, or at least to jump out of the firing range. “C’mon, does it really have to go down this way? Killing an avenger isn’t as simple as you’d like to think. Even if you kill me, there’s a raven haired rich kid downstairs with wicked aim who you _really_ don’t wanna cross, trust me.”

“Bro, it’s too late, bro.” The guy speaking held a gun out, but didn’t look intelligent enough to even fire it. His gaze held no expression, a casual apathy about the attempted murder being the general consensus of the group of thugs. “You went too far. Shouldn’t have taken my building, bro. Boss says you have to die, bro. Sorry, bro.”

“Really, this isn’t a good idea. They’re called the _Avengers_ for a reason, moron. Kill me – they’ll be coming,” Clint sighed as he spoke, realizing what he should have all along, “it’s what friends do.”

“You’ll be too dead to tell them. Was it worth it, bro? All of it?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah. Yeah, it was. _Bro_.”

Hawkeye moved like his life depended on it – which it did. With a bow in his hand and people to fight, Clint Barton was a superhero. He could be smart and strong and take on all these men and win simply on strength of character. But Hawkeye wasn’t just him, not anymore. And he wasn’t feeling like much of a hero in his purple joggers and unshaven face.

He tried his best, ducking behind the building’s air vent before letting lose a few arrows, crouched with his back against the metal. Stealing glances over the top of it, he managed to move into firing position although it was awkward to shoot arrows against a storm of bullets.

The projectiles pinged against the metal and concrete, although he could not hear them. Lip reading the bad guys had been easy. Trying to dodge bullets he couldn’t even hear – that was much harder.

It was a losing battle, but he fought anyway. When he had taken down or confused enough of the men, Clint made a run for it, attacking the closest man with a flying kick, grabbing the barrel of his gun and pointing it to the left, using his other hand to pull the trigger. He couldn’t exactly aim in his position, but forced the man he had grabbed to turn, shooting the other men on the roof. A few went down, but he was still outnumbered twelve-to-one.

Clint Barton couldn’t win this fight alone because Hawkeye wasn’t just _him_ anymore – it was them. Him and the person he wanted to see the most right then. So, of course, right on cue:

“Hey, you slack jawed, douchey, wannbes who don’t seem to have a vocabulary big enough to extend beyond the word ‘bro’!”

Kate had appeared in the doorway to the stairs, bow in her hand and looking super-pissed off. She winked at Clint, who was facing her, still leaning against the vent and completely in awe of that girl – no, that woman.

Against twenty armed men, she scowled, “Get away from my friend.”

“Go home, little girl,” the ‘bro’ man said, pointing a gun at her instead, “you’ve lost.”

“I have a few people who disagree with that – get ‘em!” Kate yelled, and on her mark more people rushed from the doorway behind her, a swarm of bodies bombarding the men before they could even let off a shot.

It was his neighbours, Clint realized, glancing around at the faces fighting. They were armed with baseball bats or pots and pans, brandished bravely against real guns. He couldn’t believe it. These people owed him nothing, or so he believed, yet they were fighting with next to nothing to save his life.

Pushing himself up to his feet, he watched as the fight turned to their favour right in front of his eyes. Guns clattered to the ground as thugs found themselves being knocked unconscious by pots still half-filled with pasta, or as they were tackled and sent to the concrete.

If he could hear it, Clint imagined it sounded like a war. He moved slowly, turning to take it all in even as most of the men were disarmed, lying on the ground in varying states of damage. They’d . . . won? The men were scattered and he was still breathing – they’d won.

He turned to smile at Kate, still firing arrows from the doorway when he noticed one of the fallen men moved. His ‘bro’ – who else? The man wasn’t being watched, but feebly moved – to grab his gun. It was pointed right at Kate.

There was no time to stop the trigger being pulled, and he knew it. Clint accepted that fact in less than a second but didn’t even need that to decide what to do next. He ran. The space between them wasn’t far; a step and a leap away. He notched an arrow as he jumped in front of her, sending it into Bro’s eye just a second after the trigger was pulled.

Because although Clint couldn’t stop the bullet – he could save the intended target.

“ _KATIE_!”

The cry tore out of him as he moved, voice ragged and torn. His voice had been fading since he became deaf, having to sign instead of speak most days; he was worried about sounding stupid since he could no longer hear his own voice. He was embarrassed to talk - except for in front of Kate.

Because it always came back to her, didn’t it? The kid who wouldn’t take no for an answer so she took the name ‘Hawkeye’ and decided to save the world.

He was only half aware of the bullet hitting him, a vague pain in his ribcage lasting only for a second before things got blurry. Shapes moved above him as he noticed he was lying on his back, only the corner of the doorway blocking his view of the sky. Then she was there, kneeling over him and looking like she was shouting or screaming, from the way her lips move frantically and she clutched at him, trying to stop the bleeding.

Kate. She would have to be Hawkeye now.

As his breaths got harder to suck in, each brining a stabbing pain and blood to his mouth, coppery and sour, Clint Barton allowed himself one last happy thought: the building was safe. Katie was safe. It was a hollow victory, if the way his vision was starting to go red at the edges was anything to go by, but everything that mattered was safe.

His last breath was a sigh of relief. In the end, Clint Barton didn’t die fighting Ultron or Thanos – he died for his friends and his home. There was no prize, no drawn out goodbyes or declarations of love: just a bullet and a girl.

And maybe, that was okay.

*

By the time the Avengers got to the building, they were too late. Before she had even moved to get the residents, Kate had sent them a message saying that this whole thing had finally blown up in Clint’s face and no matter how stubborn he was – they needed help. He needed his friends.

It wasn’t hard to convince them to come. It was Clint, their friend, their ally – their Hawkeye.

He was dead by the time they got there.

The Avengers Assembled on the roof, some dropping right out of the sky while others appeared at the doorway to find the fight already finished. There were bullet holes everywhere but it wasn’t the thugs standing tall – it was the residents of the building. They were just normal people.

That fact, however, said nothing for the courage of ordinary people. The residents of the building might not be superheroes – they were parents or office workers, sons and daughters and people just trying to get by as best they can – but that didn’t mean they weren’t brave. When their home and their neighbours were threatened, they proved that.

Some of the neighbours had worked together to tie up the thugs, a pile of assault guns in one corner of the building apart from the few in the hands of the older, more trustworthy residents, who kept them aimed at the badly dressed villains in case they tried anything funny. Others had gone back inside to check on family members of pets, scared beyond their comprehension and glad to be alive, holding things they loved close. A few had gathered around the fallen form of their neighbour, crying or staring ahead in blank disbelief.

It was after picking their way through all of this that the Avengers found Kate Bishop. She was holding Clint’s body protectively, having pulled his head and shoulders into her lap, hunched over his form and sobbing desperately, still begging him not to leave her. She was too late – he was already gone.

Both of their bows lay in the pool of blood surrounding them, the mark of a fallen hero.

“Kate?” Cap asked, walking forwards. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Spiderwoman stumble back and fall, overcome by grief; and Black Widow freeze, eyes not leaving her partner. His own chest ached – not again. They had failed to save Clint’s life once before; he couldn’t believe it had happened twice. But he pushed his own grief away for now. Later, he would mourn a friend. Right now, there was a girl who needed his strength. “Kate, come on now, let’s get you inside. There’s nothing you can do now.”

“ _No_!” she screamed, holding on tighter when Cap tried to pull her away from the body. There was blood on her knees where she had knelt beside him, as well as on her hands where she had tried to save his life. “I c-can’t – I won’t leave him.”

“Kate-”

“Please,” she begged, voice cracking as tears slid down her face and landed onto his. When she did look up to meet Steve’s gaze, she looked even more like a child, and it broke his heart. “Fix it. You can . . . you can fix him.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“You haven’t even tried!”

“It’s too late-”

“It isn’t,” Kate sobbed, eyes alight with anger, “it can’t be – h-he can’t be. He was saving m-me. He took the bullet for me. Oh, God – Clint.”

She broke out into new tears, hugging him closer again. It couldn’t be true. He couldn’t be dead. Not her Clint. That stubborn, annoying, arrogant bastard would outlive them all. This wasn’t happening. It was a nightmare.

But as she felt his hair beneath her fingertips as she curled them tighter into it, putting her forehead against his and squeezing her eyes closed, she knew it was true. Clint was dead. He had died saving her life, and it was her fault, and she would never hear him laugh or joke about her or see him drink coffee or play with Lucky ever again. Foreheads still touching, Kate’s dark hair spilled out, blocking out the entire world but the two of them.

“I’m sorry, kid,” Cap said as he pulled her away. She kicked and screamed; each cry like another stab to all of their chests, the complete and utter devastation in her voice as she called out for her dead partner enough to make most of the Avengers look away.

She fought until Iron Man finally sedated her, for her own good. Kate screamed until the world went black and then carried on even in her dreams.

*

 

Funerals were not made for laughter. Kate Bishop knew this, but despite it she couldn’t hold back a choked up, half laugh as she saw that Clint had been buried in suit he wore so often on missions. The grey was faded and there was still a hole in the left sleeve from where he’d been shot. He hadn’t even patched it up. But that was Clint for you – although she had laughed for the first time since his death at seeing it, Kate choked up immediately after, the laugh dying in her throat to become a sob.

Aware of the eyes of every superhero still living on her, she covered her mouth with a purple gloved hand, regaining her composure for a moment before she looked at him again.

He looked more peaceful than she’d even seen him. But knowing Clint, it would be the last thing he wanted – the man lived and breathed danger. He jumped off buildings for fun, for God’s sake. Most people had already took their seats, so Kate knew she had little time before the service began, moving to stand by his head before pushing his head back with her hand, trying to breathe.

There was an arrow in her pocket which she had intended to put in the casket, but about ten other people had the same idea, apparently, as there were arrows of all shapes and sizes around the coffin. Shaking her head, she huffed out a shaky breath, instead pulling his key to the building from her pocket and placing it in his hand.

“You should always carry a piece of home with you,” she whispered, lips creasing in pain as her voice wavered. No matter what he said – that place was his home. He might just be the best superintendent in the world; how many would die for their building, after all.

All he had wanted to do was something good.

Kate didn’t break down at the coffin, or kiss his cold lips, knowing that the memories they had were all she needed. Turning with a final glance, she kept her head up as she walked to the front row of chairs and took the seat which had been reserved for her, beside Barney. Although she had cried, the tears on her face were dry, unlike his. The man beside her was weeping openly, shoulders downturned as tears he didn’t even bother to wipe away crested his cheeks before falling to his laps. She knew Barney well by now. If she was hurting this much, she could only imagine how he felt.

Kate reached across and grabbed one of his hands, and was rewarded by fingers squeezing her own tightly back.

*

Despite several people telling her not to, Kate had been living in Clint’s old apartment since he . . . went away. Lucky was there, it was his home; the building needed a superintendent. Clint had given his life to save her. The least she could do was make sure the building he cared so damned much about was looked after.

The residents missed him, she could tell. If they saw her about in the hallways, they’d send her sympathetic smiles or offer her in for tea, which Kate always accepted. They were good people. It stopped her from sitting alone, looking about the apartment and seeing nothing but ghosts.

She was never alone for long, anyways. Her team or the Avengers were constantly stopping by to check up on her. Her breakdown on the night of his death had not been forgotten; although she insisted she was fine, she had Lucky and a place to sleep so didn’t need anything else, they didn’t believe her. Even people she had never met before would show up, claiming to be old friends of Clint’s from back in his early Hawkeye days.

They all said the same thing: _it wasn’t your fault_.

But it was, wasn’t it? That bullet was meant for her. If she had been paying closer attention, or had a better plan, Clint could be alive right now. He could be sitting across the couch from her complaining that she was rich enough to buy her own stuff so to stop drinking all of his coffee.

Kate was cleaning through his stuff a week later when that thought occurred to her. Smiling at the thought humourlessly, she stopped, putting the pile of old books she had been sorting through down and collapsing once more on the couch. Burying her face in the fabric, she curled up into a ball and closed her eyes, stretching her arm under the pillows and trying to breathe in the smell of him. Only her own perfume, a faint lingering of alcohol and the smell of dog remained. He was gone even here.

Eyes snapping open, Kate jumped up when she felt something beneath her fingers. It was not the slightly worn fabric of the couch – this was harder, but bent under the pressure of her touch with a crinkling sound. Frowning, Kate sat, pulling the couch cushion up to reveal a single sheet of paper, folded a few times and coffee stained.

Curious, she picked it up, unfolding the paper. Her heart almost stopped when she saw his writing, the chicken scratch, barely legible scrawl that it was.

She let a tear fall when she saw it began with her name – a letter. Sitting back on the couch, she pulled her legs up to her chest, eyes scanning the paper as she wiped away the tears and began to read.

_Katie,_

_Grill’s gave me an idea a few weeks ago, before he died. We were taking on the roof and he said “tell her about it”. It sounds simple, huh? But it isn’t. This is hard._

_When he suggested a letter, I thought ‘perfect!’ mostly because it’s the easy way out. Letters are simple because it’s just paper and words. People – talking to them, telling them how I feel – I was never too good at that. I thought about not doing this, but after old Gil died – how could I not? Even if you never read this, at least I wrote it, like I said I would._

_But where do I start, Kate?_

_You’re amazing._

_I know I don’t say it enough (if ever) but you are. So I’m saying it now: you amaze me. All of the time, you amaze me with your wit and your skill and your determination. You don’t run away from things like me. You’re stubborn as hell and it irritates me sometimes, especially when you get yourself into trouble, but I also admire the hell out of you for it._

_Also, you’re beautiful. Just saying._

_Most of all, you make me better. For a long time I thought being alone was the best for me, ‘cause people are complicated and arrows are not. I pushed everyone away – people I loved a long time ago, my friends, my allies – but not you. Somehow, I never managed to make you hate me, as you should. I’ve been an ass, for the most part._

_So I’m sorry for that._

_I never managed to push you away because you never let me. No matter what I did, you somehow saw someone worth sticking around for, and thank God for you, kiddo, because no one else did. That’s your stubbornness again. You made me better just by being here. I saw you fight for no other reason than to help people, and I wanted to be you. Nevermind me being Hawkeye – you’re the hero. I held myself to a higher standard just because I wanted to be whatever you saw in me._

_I’m not Hawkeye anymore. Not alone, anyway. I think that between us, we have a pretty good chance at making a difference, but give it a few years and you won’t even need me at all._

_I didn’t doubt for a second that you were worthy to take up my name. I knew you were the only person in the world I’d ever want to five minutes after meeting you. That’s what makes you a leader – you inspire that in people._

_The point that I’ve been avoiding, Katie, is that I love you._

_And because I’m a damn coward, I’ll probably never say it. I’m sorry for that, too. I guess some things never change._

_But you’re young and beautiful and you deserve better than me and I will be a coward as long as I believe that. I wish I could tell you. Remember what I told you about taking shots, the second time we met? This is the only one I never took, because I care too much about hurting what I was aiming for to take the risk._

_You’re worth hurting for, Kate._

_When me and Grills were talking about this, I didn’t know who I was going to write this letter to until I started it. I thought about writing to Jess or Bobbi to apologise, but I realized the only person I wanted to apologise to was you. I shouldn’t treat you the way I do. You’re the only one who stuck by me unconditionally, and even when I thought I’d lost you to L.A, you came right back. I don’t know why I doubted you would, even for a second – this is your home as much as mine. _

_But at least I put it on paper, right? At least it’s somewhere out there that I love you._

_If I found the courage to give this to you, please don’t punch me. I know I deserve it for telling you like this, but I struggle talking to you at the best of times. Somehow you manage to make me forget how to speak._

_I love you, again, just in case you’re mad at me right now._

_From – well, you know who this is . . ._

By the time Kate finished the letter, she was barely keeping it together, tears leaking down her face freely as she tried to clear them every few seconds, needing to hear those words. At the last sentence, she let go of the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, come out in a single word: “Clint”.

Then she couldn’t hold it back anymore, face buried in her hands as she sobbed, not breathing or thinking or even trying to hide the pain she felt.

Because, although she knew it would end in disaster, and they were both too messed up for anything to work, and she had believed he would never feel the same way – she loved him too.

Damn, she wished he had said it to her, just once.

For a while, Kate did nothing but cry, sinking back into grief so overwhelming and violent she could not physically move for hours, crumpled letter still in her hands. It took Lucky to wake her up. She was curled up on the couch again when she felt a wet nose brush against her palm, the normal whine that the dog was hungry accompanying it. Looking up, she found him there, because where else would he be?

She swore he was a super-powered dog sometimes, the way Lucky could read their minds and know just when to show up.

Tilting his head to the side, the dog noticed her sadness and climbed up onto the couch, lying on her lap. It was a dog’s way of hugging you. Putting his head in her lap and looking at her with those big sad eyes, Kate sighed, rubbing his fur gently and squaring up to him.

“You miss him too, don’t you, boy?” she guessed, scratching him behind the ears. “It’s alright – I do too. But don’t you worry; I’ll look after you, buddy. We’re gonna be just fine, the two of us. Hawkeye and Lucky to the end, right?”

When Lucky barked in answer, she laughed for the first real time since Clint died, since the almost-laugh at the funeral didn’t count. If it weren’t for that dumb dog, she didn’t know what would have happened to her.

Kate got up, Lucky jumping down and landing in front of her. They would be okay – they had to be. It’s what he would have wanted. And for now it hurt, but eventually things would get better again. They would be okay.

They were _home_.


End file.
